


Battlefield

by ninja19



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Alternate Universe - Croatoan/Endverse, Anal Sex, Angst, Bottom!Cas, M/M, Oral Sex, bottom!Dean
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-06-08
Updated: 2014-06-08
Packaged: 2018-02-03 22:49:26
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,832
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1758913
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ninja19/pseuds/ninja19
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Five times Dean comes to Castiel's cabin. Set between 2012 - 2014 in the endverse.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Battlefield

I

The first time Dean comes to Castiel’s cabin, he’s sad and angry and more than a little drunk.

He collapses by the door, and Cas rushes to his side, supports him until they’ve crossed the room to his bed where they both sit. Dean tells him what the last patrol brought news of, about Sam and Detroit. He yells and swears and sobs into Cas’ chest, all his emotion pouring from him in passionate waves, and Castiel thinks he’s never seen someone so beautiful, someone so willing to put another human being before all else. Someone willing to sacrifice everything for the sake of protecting a loved one.

Except this time, Dean has failed.

And Cas, useless, ex-angel, pitifully human Cas, can’t do anything but cradle the back of his head, this man he loves so dearly, and watch him break.

Maybe there is something he can do. He’s only been officially human for a short while, but more than long enough to experience the ways in which humans distract themselves from grief. Cas can give him that, at least. It’s all he has to give.

Cas murmurs soothing nonsense into Dean’s hair, pressing his lips against Dean’s temple as he does so. Dean flinches from the gentle touch, pulls back, eyes him warily. Cas leans in and presses his lips to the corner of Dean’s mouth, the way he’s dreamed of doing since Dean gave him that damn FBI badge and fixed his tie, then slides across to catch his lips in a soft, chaste kiss. Even that one innocent touch sends sparks flying through Cas’ veins, but he swallows down any ridiculous feelings trying to claw their way to the surface. _This is for Dean,_ he tells himself. _This is for comfort._

Cas draws back just enough to look at Dean. He stares back, confused and tense, tears still running down his face, and Castiel knows he’s ready to flee at the prospect of _love_ entering their relationship. So Cas looks him firmly in the eye and says in a way that can’t be possibly misunderstood, “I want to make you feel better, Dean. Let me help you forget. Let me take care of you. Just this once.”

And Dean, gorgeous, wrecked, Dean, just swallows and nods before leaning towards Cas again and kissing him in a way that is nothing like the gentle brush of lips that just occurred. It’s wet and filthy and tastes like Dean and salt and does nothing to still the continuous chant of _I love you I love you_ in Cas’ head.

Later, when Cas is riding Dean slowly and tenderly, gently brushing away the tears that still fall from his lashes, he leans down to press his lips to Dean’s forehead and Dean whimpers quietly. “Shhh,” Cas says, kissing Dean again and again, “It’s okay. I’m here. I’ll always be here, Dean.”

Dean comes with a sob, and Castiel watches as the righteous man falls apart beneath him in more ways than one.

II

The second time Dean comes to Castiel’s cabin, it’s because Cas hasn’t been outside in four days.

Dean’s boots thud heavily on the wooden floor, and the vibrations make Cas’ head pound even harder. He’s curled up on the hard floor, surrounded by empty liquor bottles and cigarette stubs and used condoms and pills he hasn’t gotten around to taking yet.

Last night he was drunk, or high, or maybe both, but either way his head is killing him and can everyone please get to fuck and leave him to die in peace, please?

Apparently not. Dean grabs Cas under the arms roughly and pulls him to his unsteady feet. Cas shrugs him off, muttering profanities under his breath.

Dean just _tsks_ and pulls him over to the bed where he collapses rather ungracefully on his stomach. He’s not wearing a shirt, and he knows when he hears Dean inhale sharply that he’s looking at the harsh, jagged scars that stretch from his shoulder blades to his waist. They’re the only reminder he has left of what he used to be, that he wasn’t always such a pathetic excuse for one of God’s creatures. Dean reaches out, traces the scars lightly with a fingertip, and Cas pulls away from the touch, rolls on to his back to stare resentfully at him. “Don’t,” he says, his hoarse voice coming out as a growl. “I don’t need your pity.” He closes his eyes and hopes Dean will take the hint and leave.

Instead, he feels he soft press of lips on his forehead, the way he done for Dean all those months ago. He opens his eyes slowly, looks up to see Dean watching him with an expression full of concern. “You took care of me once, remember?” he says quietly, and Castiel has to suppress a laugh because of course he remembers. It was the best night of his life, angelic or human. “Let me do that for you.”

Cas freezes, because he’s been sleeping with people who aren’t Dean for the very good reason that he can’t afford to love him, can’t afford to pine after him. Not in this life. But here Dean is, offering himself on a plate, and fuck it, fuck everything, because Cas can’t bring himself to say no.

“Okay,” he breathes, and Dean’s eyes darken. He’s on him in an instant, sucking bruises on to Cas’ chest, kissing his neck, delving into his mouth with his tongue. He’s everywhere, all at once, and God help him, Cas can’t do anything other than feel it.

He feels it, alright, when Dean pulls his jeans and underwear down and kneels between his legs and _oh,_ that’s Dean’s mouth on his dick.

Cas has had blowjobs before, from both men and women, but it’s never been like _this_ before. Maybe it’s the way Dean sucks cock like a pro, or maybe it’s the way he moans around him and palms himself through his jeans like he’s starving for it. Either way, Cas has never came so hard or so fast in his life.

Later, when he’s lying in the dark of his cabin staring at his ceiling, Castiel realizes he’s well and truly fucked.

III

The third time Dean comes to Castiel’s cabin, he’s angry.

He pulls the bottle of whiskey from Cas’ hand and throws it at the wall where it smashes and forms an amber puddle on the floor.

Today, someone died because Cas was too drunk to remember to cover his six. Tonight, Cas dove straight into the bottom of another bottle to try and absolve his guilt.

Dean is screaming at Cas, something about his own stupidity costing lives and the phrase _useless junkie_  is thrown in there somewhere and Cas just lets it wash over him in waves because _he knows,_ dammit, doesn’t Dean know he knows all this already? He knows he fucked up. He knows he’s gone from being a formidable soldier to being a drunken liability in this war, _he knows._

But he can’t bring himself to let his façade drop in front of Dean, so he just smirks and mutters something like _that’s how I roll, babe,_  in a flat tone.

He gets a black eye for his trouble.

But Cas isn’t taking that, of course he isn’t, because what gives Dean the right to treat him like this? They were supposed to be friends, they were supposed to look out for one another and what, because the word’s gone to shit they have to, too?

It hurts, somewhere in his chest, and before he knows it his own fist is connecting with Dean’s nose with a sickening crunch. Blood flows down Dean’s face and they stare at each other for a moment and then suddenly they both move at once, screaming at each other, punching , kicking, fighting in a way they never have before.

Cas couldn’t tell you how it happened, but somehow he’s got Dean pressed up against the wall, fucking into him roughly, Dean panting and moaning, his back pressed against Cas’ chest. “Never presume to know me, Dean Winchester,” he hisses into Dean’s ear, picking up the pace of his thrusts, “You know nothing about me.”

If the rest of the camp notices their matching bruised faces and swollen knuckles the next day, they don’t mention it.

IV

The fourth time Dean comes to Castiel’s cabin, he’s not Dean at all.

Or rather, he’s not _his_ Dean. He’s a Dean from another time; a Dean fresh from Hell, a Dean who’s so dedicated to doing good he’s buried his own masochistic nature away under layers of shame and guilt.

Castiel revels in his light.

Cas craves him, the simple goodness in him. This is the Dean he fell for, in all manners of the word.

This Dean is so gentle, too gentle, as Cas finds out when he has his lips wrapped around Dean’s cock. This Dean runs his hands through Cas’ hair instead of tugging it. This Dean cups Cas’ face in his hands, looking down at him with a look of pure adoration on his face that Castiel has never seen on his Dean. This Dean breathes Castiel’s name when he comes, pulling him up for a kiss afterwards.

This Dean stays afterwards.

 

V

The last time Dean comes to Castiel’s cabin, it’s a few hours before a suicide mission.

They don’t say anything for a while, just stare each other down.

Dean gives in first. “We really fucked up, didn’t we?”

Cas shrugs. “We could still save the world.”

Dean shakes his head. “No. I mean us.”

Castiel stares blankly. “There isn’t an ‘us’, Dean. Not anymore.”

Dean’s expression flickers. He runs his hand through his hair. “I loved you, you know.”

Castiel’s heart leaps, then clenches at the use of past tense. “W-when?”

“I don’t know. Before Sam. Maybe for a while after. But then… I had other people to worry about, you know?”

Cas says nothing, clenches his jaw. _Tell him,_ a voice in his head says. _Tell him how you felt. How you feel._ Instead he mutters coldly, “Well, thanks for waiting until the end of times to tell me.”

Dean’s face gives way to sadness in a way it hasn’t for years. “You’re gonna die, you know. Me too, probably.”

Cas nods. “I helped you devise the plan, Dean.” His life isn’t worth anything anymore.

“Yeah, I know, you self-sacrificial dick,” Dean mutters.

Neither of them speak for a while, the end of their lives creeping closer with every second that passes. Eventually Cas lifts his hand and presses it against Dean’s shoulder, where his mark is still burned into his skin under his layers of clothing. “What do you want to do, Dean? For our last night?”

Dean smiles at Cas sadly. “I thought I’d just sit here quietly.”

They do, until midnight arrives and it’s time to head into battle together, one last time.


End file.
